|The Sick Livers - Neath, The Duke - 29th October 2011|
|Written by Dom Daley|
|Sunday, 06 November 2011 05:30|
What else does a self respecting gig-goer and lover of depraved punk rock do of a Saturday night? Sit in the house watching moron TV like X Factor or Come Dancing? Nope, we get out there amongst it and get down and dirty with South Wales' finest purveyors of filthy punk rock 'n' roll, The Sick Livers.
Having taken something of an extended break the Livers are back amongst it and boosted by new personnel in the axe department turning them into a ten legged rockin' machine ready to give audiences an aural and visual seeing to...and tonight was going to be no exception.
Now the Duke is a rough round the edges; Who am I kidding, it's just plain rough all over never mind the edges and it seems fitting that tonight it's about to get filthed up a bit more. After an interesting opening duo on drums and fuzzed up geetar (sorry, I never got the band's name) where, amidst the White Stripes-ish blues noise, there was a beautiful rendition of The Cramps classic 'Bikini Girls With Machine Guns' which went down rather nicely....but it's not what's brought me out on this lovely rain swept evening, it's whats up next in the shape of The Goddamn mother fucking Sick Livers.
As the clock struck ten the ghouls and boys were wedged into the odorous venue for a forty five minute pounding from Ginge and the boys. Straight from the get go there is no time for fucking about as we were into 'Rumney Rock City' as Ginge dons his aviator shades and begins to prowl the dance floor. It was an all too brief ten song set but fuck me is it legal to have this much fun watching punk rock? The £2.60 cans were taking a pasting as the place was reaching boiling point as ringmaster Ginge Knievel moved in on his first victim finding out it was a young lady's birthday she had the dedication to end all dedications as Ginge knelt down before her to dedicate 'I Was Born To Fuck You Baby' - you could see the young lady visibly melt as the sweat soaked frontman notched up his banter and the young uns in attendance were now hypnotised by the beautiful noise before them as they lost any inhibitions and began thrashing around in a pit Neath hadn't seen for decades, horns and headbanging a plenty as beer and bodies began flying around.
'Tiger Riot' upped the ante before 'Pussy Disease', with its extended bass and drum work out, as Ginge left the stage with people wondering has he done an Axl Rose and fucked off because the Oranjeboon wasn't chilled enough or simply left the building looking for the naked man seen walking the town earlier with nothing on bar a cheeky smile! Oh, and a tie, but no he'd popped off to the little boys room. It did precede a Jeremy Kyle style debate which pondered the question Neath or Bridgend, which has better shopping facilities? On account of them having an Evans' oversize ladies boutique (so educational and finger on the pulse these punk rock shows) Neath was the winner. At first Ginge stood his ground and was adamant that Bridgend had the edge but the people spoke. Before we get carried away the crowd were urged to participate in 'St Pauli' which they duly obliged for the chant-along part of, "Hey Hey St Pauli, Hey Hey St Pauli" - it was at this point that a young headbanger who was windmilling for all he was worth decided to collide with the bar and split his head open but it didn't deter the chosen one as he dusted himself down and carried on throwing shapes as the claret poured from a wonderful gash on his forehead - it seemed fitting and perfect that the joys of such quality punk rock can do that to a young man (may he wear his scar forever like a badge of honour).
The end was almost upon us but there was time to squeeze in a blistering rendition of 'Hell Of A Girl' and 'Seven Year Itch' then it was goodnight Boston, er sorry, Neath. The pit weren't letting the band get away that easily so it was time to wedge in a stinkingly good cover of 'Denim Demon' before the finale of 'Hell Bent On You' then it really was Goodnight Irene as Ginge fled to the rain soaked beer garden otherwise his new adoring fans would surely have carried him round the town on their collective shoulders.
A band as good as this deserve to get recognition for their songwriting and performance and should get exposed to a far wider audience. Whilst it seems perfect watching them tear up a back street pub so masterfully The Sick Livers deserve so so much more. If you see them coming to a venue near you make sure you cancel whatever you might have planned and get down there and get amongst it because behind the tom foolery and humour there is a seriously good band going on. The Sick Livers are up there with The Adjusters and The Hip Priests as the finest bands currently knocking out dirty punk rock 'n' roll. Let's hope someone takes a chance on them and they can reap the rewards. Simply awesome!